


Blood Loss and Alcohol

by KatieBug1998



Series: Supernatural One-Shots, Sick Fics, Injured Fics, and Hurt/Comfort [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Loss, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Injured Dean, Love Confessions, Reader-Insert, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 08:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10240394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieBug1998/pseuds/KatieBug1998
Summary: Dean is injured. He and the reader go back to the bunker where the reader patches him up.





	

"Dammit, Dean. You're so stupid!" You slam the bunker door closed. "What made you think you could -"

"Just shut up and help me!" Dean shouts. He's leaning against the wall, breathing hard.

"Put your arm over my shoulder," you command. He does so. His arm is pressed again his abdomen. You try to hold him upright as you both stumble down the stairs.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, Dean leans heavily against the wall. His eyes are closed. "Dean?" He grunts in response. "We have to get to the med room," you say, referencing the room where Cas took Sam to extract Gadreel's grace. It has all the medical supplies.

The blood has run down to his pants now, darkening the fabric. He pushes off the wall and begins walking. He's unsteady, and you hold out your hands in case he starts to fall. The med room is just outside the war room, but it takes awhile to get there because Dean is walking so slow due to his injury. Dean sits down on medical chair and leans back.

"You better not screw up with the stitches," Dean grumbles. "You suck at stitches."

"Yeah, well, you suck in general, so." You rifle through some drawers and find a suture kit. "Do you want morphine?"

"Nope. I'll just take the whiskey. No use wasting the good stuff on this." You shake your head; he acts like his injury isn't bad, but it's the worst one he's had in a long time. Still, there's no way you can convince him to take it, so you don't even try. Instead, you grab the whiskey bottle off the top of the table and hand it to Dean. He takes a long swig of it. "Alright, I'm good," he says. He sets it down on the tray next to him. He starts to take off his shirt, but he's clearly in pain. 

"Wait," you say. He drops his hands, exhaling. You take some scissors out of the drawer and cut his shirt off.

You soak a rag in alcohol and rub it over his skin, getting rid of the blood. More blood keeps trickling out of the deep cut. "I'm gonna start cleaning it. Don't be a baby." When the rag touches his skin, he hisses through clenched teeth. "You wanna hold my hand?"

"No. Jesus, why are you being such a bitch today?" You'd been lecturing Dean all day, especially after he screwed up and got himself hurt. Truthfully, it was a defense mechanism; you've been trying to hide from him how you really feel.

"Are you on your period?" he asks.

You look away from his wound to glare at him. "Now who's the bitch?"

You start the stitches. "Ow!" Dean says he inhales sharply, making his stomach move so the stitches almost rip and you almost jam the needle further into his skin.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you want to do them yourself?" you ask, condescendingly.

Dean leaned back and grumbled something. "What was that?" you ask with a warning tone.

"Nothing. Just do my damn stitches."

It's silent for a bit while you work, too quiet. It suddenly occurs to you that Dean may have passed out. Your head whips up to look at him. "What?" he asks. He's looking at you like, oh man, like he's in love with you.

"Sorry, just, are you okay?" You narrow your eyes.

"Are you?" he counters.

You sigh and keep working, the silence more awkward now, only accompanied by Dean's somewhat ragged breathing. You keep glancing up at him; every time, he's looking at you with that strange expression.

After what feels like forever, you say "I'm done." Dean exhales shakily and chugs more from the whiskey bottle. You take a new rag and pour alcohol on it and gently run it over Dean's stitches, then bandage it. "Good to go," you say.

"Hey, (y/n)?" Dean asks.

"Yeah," you respond. "You okay?" You step closer and stand beside him. He pushes himself up, wincing slightly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Whatever." He waves his hand. His eyelids are drooping very slightly. "You're cute. You're the best hunter I know, besides me of course." He laughs a little. You look over at the whiskey bottle and see that over a quarter of it is missing.

"Dean, you-"

"Where was I? Oh, you're the best person and the best hunter I know. You keep me in line. I think I love you." He rolls his head back a little.

"You're delirious." You laugh nervously. "Combination of blood loss and alcohol."

"No. I've been thinking about it."

You look down at the white tile floor. "Yeah, me too."

"And I just think - wait, what?"

Impulsively, you lean down and kiss him forcefully. Dean automatically kisses you back. It's amazing. His hand presses against your back, pulling you closer.

You pull back, breathing heaving. You touch your fingers to your lips. You look at Dean. He's pale, his breathing fast and ragged. His eyes are closed, but he has a smile on his lips.

You laugh lightly. "Let's get you to bed."

He opens his eyes and grins. "Will you sleep with me?"

"Maybe later, perv. You just get healed up, and then we can go on our first date, and then our second..." you trail off and kiss him again.

"Sounds good to me," he breaths against your lips.


End file.
